


Violent Times

by Hinotori



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinotori/pseuds/Hinotori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uta and Yomo's relationship has undoubtedly had some changes throughout the years, but can the violence between two people really be entirely removed, or does it just take on another form?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violent Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alquana](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Alquana).



> Here's some YomoUta, because there isn't enough of it in the world.

If somebody asked him, for the lack of a better word, Yomo would describe Uta’s sex drive as _intimidating._ He wasn’t proud of being one of the few to have gained this knowledge through experience rather than having just heard the rumors.

They hated each other, sure. There was no doubt in that, not at all. They could fight for _hours_ and of course neither of them was satisfied if it was limited just to verbal assaults. Actually, those had very quickly almost entirely dropped out of their routine. It was always very dirty fighting, with scratching and biting and punches and kicks in the nastiest of places, but that’s the only way Uta could enjoy it. It was always terrifying to watch them lash at each other, tear through flesh and bone alike, then just get back up and ask for more.

Once, when Yomo had gotten the upper hand, he’d immediately slammed Uta against the nearest building (and he was sure the other’s spine cracked _horribly_ at the impact, but he couldn’t worry about that). They’d both been sweaty and panting, with Yomo’s top torn in several places, but Uta’s jacket was still perfectly intact. In the few seconds it took him to catch his breath, the shorter of the two thought over his situation carefully. For the first time, he wasn’t able to struggle out of the other’s grip, his hips firmly pinned the concrete by Yomo’s.  And although he’d _never_ admit to it, it took all of Uta’s self-control to keep himself from panicking. He wouldn’t have if he was in this position with anybody else (not that anybody else _could_ get him in this position, but those were details). But this was Yomo, who would most likely kill him on the spot given half the chance. Unpleasant as that thought was, though, the mere _possibility_ of it gave him a weird rush.               

He suddenly wanted to provoke him again, see what he’d do. If necessary, he could handle Yomo even at his most violent.

The white haired man’s glare was intimidatingly fierce, almost admirably so. Maybe it was exactly at the moment that their eyes met when Uta decided he wanted to _erase_ that glare and make its owner _bend._ So he dropped the idea of just spitting in Yomo’s face to earn himself another punch or something of the like and settled for sending a taunting smirk his way. It seemed to have the desired effect, successfully taking the taller of the two aback.  The opening was big enough to give the other the advantage and the boldness he needed. Uta arched his back, pressing himself as closely to the other as he possibly could, and licked his lips invitingly.

However, his plan did not work as intended. Instead of getting turned on, Renji quickly took two steps back, releasing the other’s arms, thus causing Uta to fall on the ground with a startled yelp, followed shortly by a ‘thud’.

They stared at each other for a while, Uta not even bothering to stand up while his irritation grew. He was just about to open his mouth and say something or get up and punch the other, when Yomo silently and rather awkwardly turned around and walked away. For reasons unknown, neither of them brought this up during the next few encounters they had and it didn’t change anything in their fights or occasional talks.

 

Now, though, they could both say it had been a necessary step. Now, some ten years later, when Yomo had Uta on his back on the desk in his studio for the second time since he’d come over, the tools and sketches pushed aside and onto the floor, he could _definitely_ say it hadn’t been pointless.

They did this almost every day, sometimes more than once when Yomo was actually willing to stay the night, and it had been like that for quite a few years. They couldn’t say how many exactly, though that wasn’t very important. What _was_ important, though, was Yomo’s dick sliding slowly but firmly, _infuriatingly so,_ in and out of Uta, pulling almost all the way out every time. How the bloody scratches and bite marks which covered them burned and pulsated, having issues with healing because the two men’s thoughts were entirely _elsewhere._

Yomo loved teasing Uta, mostly because the other man hated it so much. Even now, when they had both settled down and were no longer at each other’s throats constantly, he felt the occasional desire to see his friend break his usual calm demeanor and succumb to the anger, the _rawness_ which defined him before. Have him claw at his back and at the table or the wall, and muffle the eager sounds with bites and kisses which almost tore off his partner’s lips. He’d always wondered what Uta would be like during sex and, finally seeing it, had been _extremely_ fulfilling. Uta took everything that their fights had been and put it in these encounters. Since the first time, Yomo hadn’t been able to get enough of it, even though he never acted like he was too excited about the idea. Getting to see the other like this and get out all of his frustration without _worrying_ was enough. Because, being the vengeful person that he was, the white haired man still felt like he had _a lot_ to get back at Uta for. And, having that opportunity, even after so much time had passed, was deliciously satisfying.

Uta, on the other hand, didn’t feel dominated in the slightest. Even when he was biting the pillow while on his hands and knees, face buried somewhere in the sheets, even when he moaned and his hips moved involuntarily to meet the other’s rough, dry thrusts, and _especially_ when he saw the expression on the other’s face. In those moments he knew he’d _won_ , as Yomo apparently trusted him enough to appear completely defenseless in front of him. And it was _delicious._

So he let the other have his fun, he put on a show, he let himself seem vulnerable enough to let his more violent self show through. The sex was rough and it usually hurt, but it was so _good_ that he thought he might never get sick of it. Not that he minded. No matter what façade he tried to put on, in the end, Yomo also seemed eager enough to do it as often as Uta wanted it (and he wanted it frequently enough).

There wasn’t any particular _feeling_ behind it. Uta couldn’t even say it was based purely on lust, as he had enough people he could substitute Yomo with if he wanted to. No, it was more so related to how _enjoyable_ it was to be in this particular situation with this particular person. He couldn’t lie – he loved the way Yomo smelled, the way he tasted, the expressions he pulled when he was in pain, but he didn’t love _him_. He enjoyed the kisses which almost always ended up filling their mouths with blood, he also couldn’t complain about how _big_ Yomo was and how effortlessly he filled him up. Sometimes he laughed when Yomo had him pinned against a random piece of furniture and he was all worked up and hard as a rock, panting and trying to say something _meaningful_ or, even worse – something intended to turn him on. It didn’t suit his friend at all to do these things and they usually backfired entirely, but they fucked anyway, ignoring the unnecessary exchange of words.

It wasn’t about a _bond_ that they shared, they’d both figured at some point. After so many years, it wasn’t necessary to pretend that their apparent friendship had anything to do with it. It wasn’t about the sex, either. It had never been about really _hating each other_ in the past _,_ either. It was much simpler than all of that, really – it was a game of surrendering, and Yomo _always lost._  


End file.
